


Our Hands Will Never Be Clean

by phunWorks



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Depression, Emotionally Repressed, F/M, Suicidal Thoughts, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 10:34:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18826909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phunWorks/pseuds/phunWorks
Summary: I felt her hand in mine, but I didn't.





	Our Hands Will Never Be Clean

I felt her hand in mine, but I didn't. Physically it was there, but I couldn't  _feel_ her. This has been happening a lot. Again, and again she vocally wishes to stay home with me. Wishes for us to lay alone together in our bed. I want to, I want to so much she has no idea. I know the moment she leaves, I won't be able to be strong anymore. I know I'll fall. I hold her against me before she gets in her car, "I love you, so much, Tyler." 

"I love you, too," I softly say. I'm barely keeping it together. The tears are stinging the backs of my eyes and I'm swallowing down my emotions with every gulp. I can't seem to stop.

Jenna looks so sad and scared in that moment. Her blue eyes turning wide and vulnerable. My heart breaks. "You're gonna be alive when I come back, right?" Her voice comes out as vulnerable as her eyes.

"I will," I say with a nod. Somehow my voice is stronger than I thought I could manage. "I promise." It sounds more meaningful than it feels. With that, we say our final goodbyes. As I walked away, unshed tears threatened to flow, I took a breath and they fell away again. Once inside, I began to panic. I also began to feel faint. I hadn't eaten more than half a meals worth in three whole days. I had to eat. I didn't fucking want to, but I had to. Apple pie sounded like a good choice, as good as any, and a glass of milk. After one bite, I realize rat poison has covered the apples. I know this can't be true because I don't see or smell it, but I _taste_ it. I take three more bites before I decide to wash it down with milk. The milk tastes better, but is still _wrong_ somehow. Maybe I need an appetite? I load a bowl, the entire time feeling like scum. I take a few hits, hoping this will help, it helps me dream more of death and despair. Why isn't this helping me like it usually does? Fuck!

I want to die. Why do I want to die? I have the love of my life now. Why do I still want to die? I'm falling apart now. I seek out a hotline... something I haven't done in so long. I wait forty minutes only to be kicked the moment it begins. Why? Fuck! Why?! I smoke more. I'm getting closer to mellow now. I need another hit. I take one. I take another one. I don't want to be me anymore.

I want to leave the city.. but I can't. So, I'll just leave consciousness. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I have a lot of things going on with me lately. Just getting this out, I guess. I'll get back to work on my other projects after this.


End file.
